Memoir
by Anonymous033
Summary: "In the deafening silence of his apartment, he can hear the seconds ticking by on his clock." When Tony reviews his bucket list, he decides that what he really needs isn't written on it, after all. Tony/Ziva. Prequel to "Along the Way" and "Destination."
1. Memoir

**Summary: "In the deafening silence of his apartment, he can hear the seconds ticking by on his clock." When Tony reviews his bucket list, he decides that what he really needs isn't written on it, after all.**

**Disclaimer: I once said, "I own NCIS," and my nose grew longer like Pinocchio's D:**

**Spoilers: Minor 9x08 "Engaged (Part 1)" and 9x09 "Engaged (Part 2)"; major CBS-released full version of Tony's Bucket List.**

**Warnings: There is one sentence which is slightly unflattering to God, haha. Also, while this story involves positive interaction between the characters Tony and Ziva, it is _far_ from Tiva. You have been warned!**

**Enjoy; please review!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

><p><strong>Memoir<strong>

In the deafening silence of his apartment, he can hear the seconds ticking by on his clock. Which is strange, because he doesn't own a ticking clock. But he can hear it ticking anyway, slowly and steadily in the background, telling him that he has that fewer minutes left.

He stares at his bucket list, wondering why he typed it out anyway. It's a list of empty hopes and wishes, with everything from _find Jimmy Hoffa, dammit _to _tell her_. 'Tell her'. _C'mon, seriously?_ he yells at himself. What is he hoping to gain by that? What the _hell _kind of a difference does he think he can make by forming this list?

He starts slowly, pinching the top-right corner of the first piece of paper in between the thumbs and indexes of both his hands, and then pulling in opposite directions. The sound the paper makes as it rips has a surreal quality, as if he can hear his dreams being torn up along with it. Perhaps that's all good – he's never been one likely to live out his dreams anyway. God would attest to that.

Pretty soon the first page is gone, and there are just the last few items left on the second. He spares a few moments to mourn the ones that were really important to him, like _tell dad it's okay _and _discuss Paris_. But it doesn't matter. He can still tell his dad that he loves him, and Paris with Ziva was never meant to be discussed. He casts a sad smile at _let friends get closer _and then tears it up too. Now he won't have to worry about their not wanting to get closer.

He pauses at number 26, the last item on his list; not because he thinks he might still carry it out but because he knows that the shattering of the dream associated with this item will be more painful than anything else. It must be done, though. Things are not meant to work out; things are never meant to work out for him.

The last ripping sound has a tone of finality to it, and he smiles with bittersweet-ness as the little bits float to the floor to join the rest of their snowy white companions. He gazes down at his barely written memoir next; it is a crude production of scrawly writing and crossed-out words. He's not even sure what he's written – most of it had been penned on drunken nights when being remembered had seemed like a good idea. There are three or four sheets at most; he picks up the one on top to destroy, too.

A quick knock on the door both startles him, and tells him that it's Ziva, at the same time. She's always had a distinctive knocking style. He lays down the piece of paper and strides out of the living room to the door; she is standing there looking rather small and lost when he opens it.

"Um. Can I stay here for a few hours?" she asks. Her eyes seem to hold a tinge of uncertainty in them, as if she's afraid he might refuse her request.

He frowns over his shoulder. "Yeah, sure. But what for?"

She rubs her face tiredly and sighs. "You know, difficult case. I – we lost Quincy."

"I know."

"Shouldn't have lost him." She shakes her head with regret, staring at her feet. "So many soldiers lost in combat."

"Combat is their job."

She lifts a shoulder and drops it. "I know."

"You wanna talk about it?" He pushes the door open further, and she steps in hesitantly.

"I just want to hang out here for a while … if it's okay with you."

"Yeah." He shrugs and closes the door behind her. "You might wanna go into the kitchen."

She peers into his living room on her way to the back of his apartment, and her mouth falls open. "There is paper all over your floor."

He steers her towards the kitchen. "I've noticed."

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No. Just tearing some stuff up."

"What are they?"

He sits her down and crosses the room to put the kettle on. "My bucket list," he eventually mutters as softly as he can.

He sees her face fall slightly out of the corners of his eyes. "Oh, Tony. You know McGee and I were just making fun of you."

"I know." He flashes the happiest smile he can muster at her, but it must be falling short because her expression is still one of sadness mixed with sympathy.

"So why did you tear it up?"

"'Cause some things aren't meant to be done." He slips a teabag into an empty mug and fervently prays for the kettle to boil soon.

"Like 'ride in a motorcycle ball of death'?" There is a hint of amusement in her question. "I think you can still discover the meaning of life, though."

"Yeah. Well, what am I going to do with it once I discover it?" He leans back against the counter and tilts his head, feigning indifference. "So what happened with Captain Quincy?"

"He was shot." She blinks her eyes several times, not in tears but thinking. "I want to help you with your bucket list."

The kitchen seems to quieten as he grows sombre and gives up on pretences. "Help me how, exactly?"

"Help you cross some things off, perhaps." She shrugs. "I asked Abby about it. That is how your bucket lists work, yes? You do those things, and then you cross them off?"

"Yeah. But it's fine. Hey, if I died without having accomplished anything I'd be just like my dad."

An expression that looks halfway between laughter and guilt crosses her face. "Do you really want to be like your dad?"

"No. But I'm a DiNozzo; it's practically genetics."

She studies him for a while, and then slowly gets up – the chair making the tiniest squeak on the tiled floor – and walks over to him. She reaches around him to turn the gas stove off before looking up at him. "Break the pattern."

He sighs and humours her. "How?"

"Like how you've been doing it all this while. You are a good man, yes?" She places a warm hand over his heart, and his pulse jumps at the unexpected contact. "You try. And sometimes you fail, but it is important that you try. Because sometimes you succeed too, Tony."

"No, I don't." He covers the hand that sits on his chest with his own and brings it away gently. "See, you don't get it, Ziva. All of those things that I do, they're not gonna make any difference when I die."

"Yes, they are."

"How do you know?"

"Because there will be people there to remember them. I will be there to remember them."

"Nah. You'll be off somewhere on your _private yacht_ with Ray and his little stash of CIA money … no fun attending something as morbid as my funeral."

"I'll hold your luncheon on-board." She gives him a slight smile. "It'll be a luxurious affair with a movie about your life, just like you would have wanted."

He feels the sharp sting of tears at the back of his eyes just then, even though he knows they're completely dry. He opens his mouth and chokes out a bit brokenly, "I just want you to be there."

She nods and curls her fingers around his. "I will be. I promise, Tony."

"Don't want the yacht or the movie. Don't even want Ray present."

He watches as her face changes to take on an expression of mild puzzlement, but he does her no favours by elaborating. His honesty has run its course by now, and he's already said too much anyway. And then she nods again, once. "I will kick him out of your funeral or luncheon if he dares to show up."

His heart beats painfully. "You'd do that to your boyfriend for me?"

"Of course." She searches his eyes. "I'd want to remember you the way you want me to."

He lets go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thanks."

"Mmhmm." She searches his eyes in confusion once more before suddenly leaning up on tiptoe and pressing a kiss just to the side of his mouth, much like she had two years ago. "And I will _always _remember you. Always, Tony. So don't worry about it. Okay?"

It's a good thing he's not a man prone to crying, or he would have crumpled into her arms right then and there. _God_, he's wanted to hear that for so long. His breath catches now because the idea that he matters enough for _anyone _– Ziva, especially – to keep him in their memory after his death makes his head spin. "Thanks," he repeats hoarsely, and a shudder runs through him.

She notices, of course, and smiles as she tightens her grip on his hand. He blinks back non-existing tears. "Come on," she says, and to his relief the moment is broken. "We're going to take a look at your bucket list. You have another copy, yes?"

"Ah…" he pauses and tries to make his voice even. "Actually, no. I never saved it on the computer and I printed only one copy."

She frowns as she takes that in. "That is okay. We can make another list. Do you remember what was on the one you tore up?"

"Yeah, most of it. But y'know, there may be some modifications I wanna make."

"We can incorporate them. Where is your computer?"

He finds a smile upon his lips as he tells her that he will go hunt for his laptop; and when he turns away, he realizes, with great surprise, that the feeling in his heart is _peace_.

Peace, because he's finally found what he's always needed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The bucket-list items mentioned in this fic are, in order of appearance, "_21. Find Jimmy Hoffa, dammit_", "_26. Tell her_", "_10. Tell dad it's okay_", "_19. Discuss Paris_", "_24. Let friends get closer_", "_6. Ride in a motorcycle ball of death_", and "_3. Discover the meaning of life_".**

**Accompanying analysis piece: ****anonymous033[dot]tumblr[dot]com[slash]post/12918231098/you-do-remember-our-bargain - not necessary to be read and _may_ be slightly different from Tony's thoughts in this fic!**

**Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review on your way out :)**

**-_Soph_**


	2. Chronicle

**Hello! ... Yea, I know. Don't say it. I know my ability to leave a story Complete is non-existent. But I hope you like this :D**

**Summary: Ziva helps Tony to create a second, modified, bucket list.**

**Disclaimer: You know, I actually own some of those items on the bucket list (which I will put up as a third chapter) ... but I own neither the idea of Tony's bucket list, nor Tony himself. I also don't own Ziva or NCIS. I own so little :(**

**Spoilers: Engaged parts 1 and 2 (9x08; 9x09), mention of 8x23 "Swan Song", mention of Ray, mention of Ziva's citizenship status, and big mention of Tony's CBS-released bucket list, of course.**

**Dedication: To _JET1967_, for your encouragement!**

**Warnings: _This _is definitely Tiva. Like, very Tiva, with friendship and romance all mixed up as they usually are. Also, it ended a lot fluffier than I expected.**

**Enjoy, and please review!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

><p><strong>Chronicle<strong>

The silence of his kitchen is punctuated only by clacking sounds as Ziva's slim fingers fly swiftly across the keyboard of his laptop. He can't deny it: he's letting her type because she's faster and more accurate at it than he is.

And there's also the fact that seeing her type the words _Tony's Bucket List _gives him a warm, fuzzy feeling, morbid as the subject is. He really doesn't know why.

She turns to him now, a confused furrow across her brow. "Do you do this in any order? Based on importance or difficulty or likelihood, perhaps?"

He shakes his head. "Only in the order that I think them up."

She gives him an odd look. "You constantly think about riding in a motorcycle ball of death?"

"_What?_ It sounds interesting."

"You should consider making it the last thing you do, then, since it is called a ball of _death_."

He thinks about it. "You think I should leave it off my bucket list?"

"It's your bucket list, Tony. I have nothing to do with it. I will help you cross some things off, but … it's not _my _bucket list."

"Would you put it, if it were your bucket list?"

She bites her lip. "No. It's not high on my list of things to do."

"So what _would _you put?"

"Well…" She lifts her hands from the keyboard and presses them into her lap, looking miserable all of a sudden. "I would not have a bucket list, firstly. Because … death is unexpected, and I would not want to leave anything unaccomplished at the time of my demise. A bucket list implies unfinished business, if I should leave anything not crossed out. _However, _if I were to have a bucket list … there would not be a lot on it. I have been all over the world and experienced many things. All I want now is a home."

He pauses and watches as she sighs almost imperceptibly, her mask put on again before she smiles at him and asks, "So, what would number one be?"

"Uh…" He shakes his head to get rid of the images in it of him, providing her with a home; and replies, "I was kinda thinking … I still want to catch a shark."

xoxo

Three hours later, they have 11 of the original 26 items written down (it took him a while to remember them). Ziva is extraordinarily quiet, her fingers frozen atop the keyboard as she stares at _let friends get closer _and blinks rapidly. She'd already gotten slightly teary-eyed at _tell Dad it's okay_, and he can't help but to nervously wonder what's running through her head right now.

Finally, she turns to him, her voice shaky even though her eyes are dry. "Are you talking about us?"

"'Us' as in … you and me?"

"No. I mean the team … me and McGee and … well, even Gibbs."

He breathes out slowly. "Yes."

"You do not think we're close?"

"I wish we were. Look, I know I'll never be anybody's best friend or something, and I'm not asking for that muc—"

"Tony." She moves to wrap her hand around his, and his pulse jumps again. "You are my best friend."

He swallows. "I am?"

"Yes. But I did not realize that you were keeping me out." She furrows her brows at him again, looking inexplicably confused and hurt by this piece of information.

He looks away to avoid the accusation in her eyes. "I keep everyone out."

The hurt in her voice increases marginally. "Why?"

"Easiest this way. Are you going to tell me that you've never lied to me, Ziva?"

She hesitates. "I don't lie to you anymore. There are some things which I … do not tell you, but I don't lie to you anymore."

"Isn't that keeping me out, anyway? Not telling me stuff."

"I don't have to tell you everything. But … that said, I have told you about almost everything that has happened since … Franks."

He swallows and finally turns back to meet her eyes. "I appreciate that."

"Tony … you don't have to keep me out."

"You know the _let friends get closer _thing is actually referring to everyone, right?"

She shrugs. "I can't answer on their behalf. But I'm saying that you don't have to keep _me _out. I want to know about what happens in your life. Might as well give me something to remember you by after your death, yes?"

She gives him a faint smile, and he tightens his grip on her hand despite himself. "Yeah," he forces himself to agree.

xoxo

It takes another forty minutes for her to stop teasing him about wanting a catch phrase and a coat of arms, so it is already well past one in the morning by the time he tells her that he may, very possibly, be working on a memoir. She shoots him a look that suggests he sounds very definitely insane, and he feels his face burn. Before he can dip his head in shame, however, a gentle smile curves onto her lips, and she presses an apologetic kiss to his cheek. "Let me read it, please?" she whispers against his skin, and he finds that he lacks the willpower to protest.

So he lets her follow him into the living room, where they sit amidst the torn-up pieces of paper on the floor and lean their backs against the couch. She frowns at the sheets of paper he hands her, and he fusses around with the white confetti on the carpet so that she won't have to see how terrified he actually is.

"You have terrible spelling, Tony," she finally murmurs, clucking.

He extends a hand to take back the sheets of paper, but her quick reflexes keep them out of his reach. So he settles for retorting sullenly, "I was drunk."

A smirk appears on her face. "I was foreign, and you don't cut me any slack when it comes to the idioms that I get wrong."

He opens and closes his mouth several times, and she laughs. "I am just teasing," she tells him, and then tilts her head curiously. "But why do you want a memoir?"

"I don't know. For fun. No one said the bucket list had to make sense."

She stares at him for a few seconds before nodding curtly and handing him back the sheets. "In that case, continue with your drunken endeavours."

He can't help feeling that she knows 'for fun' is not the real reason.

xoxo

Another half hour has them back in the kitchen and him convinced—by her—that Jimmy Hoffa will never be found. So he reluctantly leaves that item out, but his enthusiasm for completing the list starts to wane when he realizes that there are only two things left to put down: _discuss Paris, _and _tell her. _He stutters and eventually blurts out the first thing he can think of—_'Give the kitchen a good scrub'_—while she looks at him with something akin to astonishment.

It relieves him that she doesn't push further, though, and merely asks him if he's sure he wants to put that down. She tells him that she thinks it might be a little too easy to accomplish.

His shoulders sag at that. "No," he mutters, "I think I might be done here."

"Sixteen items," she says, checking the list and then giving him a comforting pat on the back. "That's not too bad. Is there a minimum number of items you must put on this list?"

"No, but sixteen is a little short." He scrunches his nose. "I was kinda hoping I'd have more to do in my long, long life."

"You can always add something that wasn't on the original list. These are the ones that were?"

"Yeah. But, you know, I can't think of anything else I wanna do."

"Mmm." She lowers her eyes, lost in thought, before stretching forward and typing down a new item. Then she leans back, and he has a clear view of number 17—_'Road trip across the United States with Ziva.'_

He chortles even as his heart skips a few beats. "You really want to spend weeks alone with me?"

She raises her eyebrows at him in amusement. "You do not want? I can delete it."

"No, keep it." He studies her. "But I thought you were sick of travelling."

"Yes. But … I am an American citizen now, and I would like to know what my country is like."

"Hmm. Sure you don't want to do this with … CI-Ray?"

"You are the fun one," she answers, and her cheeks turn slightly pink.

He feels warmth suffuse him again, and has to swallow back the smile that threatens to stretch from ear to ear. "In that case, I'd be honoured to escort you on your road trip across the US, Ziva."

Her beam is so brilliant that the entire kitchen lights up.

xoxo

He doesn't know how it comes to be that seven more items are added to the bucket list. _It probably isn't wise, _he tries to convince himself, _that three of the seven have to do with Ziva;_ but really, it gives him a rush to realize that one-sixth of his bucket list has the woman of his every dream in it.

She is laughing now, tickled to bits and pieces by item number 24—_'Be persuaded by Ziva into taking Chinese language classes together'_—and he feels something remarkably like contentment as he admires the way she throws her head back and dissolves into fits of laughter. He knows she's actually laughing at his horror upon her first proposing the idea, but he can't find it in him to be mad at her for that.

When she finally stops, her eyes twinkling and her teeth flashing, he grins at her. "Okay, fine. You get your way."

She looks at him fondly. "Are you okay with it, though? I want you to like the lessons too."

"Well, I wouldn't know until I've attended them…"

She considers. "Okay, how about this: we try out the classes, and if you don't like them, we can rewrite the item."

"I like the sound of that."

"Me too." She nods her agreement. "So, what do you want to put next?"

He contemplates the list. "I think I'm done. Are there any more of your non-bucket-list items that you'd like to sneak onto my bucket list?"

"Hey!" She punches him playfully. "I put only two in. The rest were your idea."

"I know!" he protests. "But I'm giving you an opportunity here."

"I think I'm done too," she replies, chuckling.

xoxo

It's nearing three in the morning when she takes her leave and he bids her goodbye at the front door, and as he locks up, he realizes that he is exhausted, but that his heart is lighter than it has been all week. Maybe there's something to be said about letting her get closer, after all.

He slips back into the kitchen and stands gazing at his (Saved) bucket list. Making up his mind, he leans over his laptop and very deliberately types down the last two items:

_25. Discuss, with Ziva, Paris and our bucket-list items._

_26. Tell Ziva._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Items from the original bucket list, in order of appearance in the fic: _6. Ride in a motorcycle ball of death; 4. Catch a shark; 24. Let friends get closer; 10. Tell Dad it's okay; 8. Develop a catch phrase; 15. Create DiNozzo coat of arms; 22. Finish memoir; 21. Find Jimmy Hoffa, dammit; 19. Discuss Paris; _and _26. Tell her. _All these, I must disclaim (I do not own).**

**Modified items: _25 (changed from 19)—Discuss, with Ziva, Paris and our bucket-list items; 26 (as it was)—Tell Ziva. _All these, I must cite (CBS, 2011). :P**

**My own items: _17. Road trip across the United States with Ziva; 24. Be persuaded by Ziva into taking Chinese language classes together_**_ (subject to change). _**These two, I claim (I own, hehehe, except for Ziva's name :S).**

**Items not included in the modified version of the list: _6. Ride in a motorcycle ball of death _(as appeared in the original list); _Give the kitchen a good scrub_ (unnumbered, my own item).**

**Full 2.0 version of Tony's bucket list in the next chapter. Not necessary to read, but of course you can if you want to!**

**Thanks for reading this chapter!**

**-_Soph_**


	3. List

**Spoilers to the original twenty-six-item bucket list.**

**Of these twenty-six items: not taking numbering into account, nine are kept as they were in the original list (items 1, 2, 4, 6, 10, 11, 12, 13, and 16 in _this _list), nine have been modified (items 3, 5, 7, 8, 9, 14, 15, 25, and 26 in _this _list), and eight are my own (items 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, and 24 in _this _list). Some items (19, 20, and 22) were inspired by the original list but are not directly related to it. And sorry for being so long-winded; I'm trying to cover my ass here.**

**I disclaim all rights to the CBS-released bucket list, but would love to know what you think of the items I came up with!**

**Thank you for reading!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Tony's Bucket List (2.0)

1. Catch a shark.

2. Discover the meaning of life.

3. Try out the art of Kung Fu.

4. The luge.

5. Watch _all_ Hitchcock films in order of release, pausing only for bathroom breaks.

6. Drive a 1965 Aston Martin DB5 like the one in _Goldfinger_.

7. Get Vance to teach me the bass. (Yikes!)

8. Kick McGee's butt at a video game.

9. Try space tourism with Abby (because she'll kill me and leave no evidence if I don't bring her).

10. Tell Dad it's okay.

11. Let friends get closer.

12. Develop a catch phrase.

13. Create DiNozzo coat of arms.

14. Continue writing memoir.

15. Make cameo in the movie version of memoir (and ignore Ziva's laughter in the background).

16. Get and pass on Gibbs' recipe for steak.

17. Road trip across the United States with Ziva.

18. Go to Disneyland with Ziva (so that we can both re-discover childhood).

19. Coach a basketball team.

20. Go-Kart.

21. Celebrate Hanukkah (with Ziva, _duh_).

22. Forgive and forget.

23. Invent a new kind of candy.

24. Be persuaded by Ziva into taking Chinese language classes together **(subject to change).**

25. Discuss, with Ziva, Paris and our bucket-list items.

26. Tell Ziva.


End file.
